Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 

in  2008  with  funding  from 

IVIicrosoft  Corporation 


http://www.archive.org/details/charadesOOprae 


'""d^^ 


9 


C  II  A  R  A  D  E  S . 


BY 


WmXIIROP   MACKWORTII  PEA  ED. 


du  Horh: 


f) 


CO 
MDCCLII. 


^C^  rrz- 


^\ 


•""^Ws^ 


o 


^kj^ 


'^ 


y; 


^ 


U>WAUD  O.  JOKINR,   VKiyjElL  , 


^^. 


fm 


?7c 


(^%6^ 


;^= 


-r^^^^ 


^i 


l^mnM  111 


t. 


'//,L^    :^  V 


4,'-/^.i^^. 


/■^ 


tnitjj  tjje  rtHjjrrb  nf  tlie 


New    York,  1852. 


PUBLISHER. 


(^J 


>o 


?m 


8S274S 


m>. 


"iSi^ 


6 


^ 


?; 


K^CZ- 


M 


€\kx  K)i  t  s . 


I. 

Morning  is  beaming  o'er  brake  and  bower, 
Hark !  to  the  chimes  from  yonder  tower : 
Call  ye  my  first  from  her  chamber  now, 
With  her  snowy  veil  and  her  jewelled  brow. 

Lo!  where  my  second,  in  gorgeous  array, 
Leads  from  his  stable  her  beautiful  bay. 
Looking  for  her,  as  he  curvets  by, 
With  an  arching  neck,  and  a  glancing  eye. 

Spread  is  the  banquet,  and  studied  the  song, 

Ranged  in  meet  order  the  menial  throng ; 

Jerome  is  ready  with  book  and  stole, 

And  the  maidens  fling  flowers,  but  where  is  my  whole  ? 


'M^ 


CljarnkH, 


Look  to  the  hill — is  he  climbing  its  side  ? 
Look  to  the  stream — is  he  crossing  its  tide  ? 
Out  on  the  false  one !   he  comes  not  yet — 
Lady,  forget  him,  yea,  scorn  and  forget. 


o^ 


C  |i  a  r  a  h  r 


II. 

There  was  a  time  young  Roland  thought 

His  huntsman's  call  was  worth  a  dozen 
Of  those  sweet  notes  his  ear  had  caught 

In  hoyhood  from  his  blue-eyed  cousin. 
How  is  it  now,  that  by  my  first 

Silent  he  sits,  nor  cares  to  follow 
His  deep-mouth'd  stag-hound's  matin  burst, 

His  clear-toned  huntsman's  joyous  hollo  ? 

How  is  it  now,  when  Isabel 

Breathes  one  low  note  of  those  sweet  numbers, 
That  every  thought  of  hill  and  dell. 

And  all — save  that  sweet  minstrel — slumbers  ? 
Why  does  he  feel  that  long,  dull  pain 

Within  my  second  when  she  leaves  him? 
When  shall  his  falcon  fly  again  ? 

When  shall  he  break  the  spell  that  grieves  him  ? 


sT'in^ 


Ul 


a 


cC  Ij  111'  11  & c 


And  Isabel — liow  is  it,  too, 

That  sadness  o'er  that  young  brow  closes? 
How  hath  her  eye  lost  half  its  blue? 

How  have  her  cheeks  lost  all  their  roses? 
Still  on  her  lute  sweet  numbers  dwell, 

Still  magic  seems  the  breath  that  sways  it; 
But,  oh!  how  changed  the  tone  and  spell, 

If  Roland  be  not  there  to  praise  it! 


One  summer's  eve,  while  Isabel 

Sang  till  the  starlight  came  to  greet  her, 
A  tear  from  Roland's  eyelid  fell. 

And  warp'd  the  string  and  spoil'd  the  metre. 
She  could  not  sing  another  note — 

Wherefore,  or  why,  I've  not  a  notion ; 
And  he — the  swelling  in   his  throat 

Seemed  working  from  some  poisonous  potion. 


C  ji  a  r  a  ii  t  £f , 


I  know  not — I — how  sigh  or  tear 

Cause  these  hysterical  effusions ; 
But  from  that  eve,  one  Httle  year 

Witnessed,  you'll  say,  such  strange  conclusion. 
Beside  my  all  I  saw  them  sit; 

And  that  same  lute  of  song  so  tender — 
A  little  child  was  thumping  it 

With  all  his  might — against  the  fender! 


And  Isabel — she  sang  no  more. 

But  ever  that  small  urchin  followed ; 
Who,  with  the  lute  upon  the  floor, 

Like  a  young  dryad,  whooped  and  holloed ! 
And  Roland's  hound  is  heard  again, 

And  Roland's  hawk  hath  loosen'd  jesses ! 
And  Roland's  smile  is  brightest  when 

Beside  my  all  his  boy  he  presses. 


•WiS^ 


-^o 


\ 

) 


10 


€  li  n  r  n  i  r  n 


i 


III. 
SiK  IIarrv  is  famed  for  his  amiable  way 
Of  talking  a  deal,  when  he's  nothing  to  say: 
Sir  Harry  will  sit  by  our  Rosahe's  side, 
And  whisper  I'rom  morn  until  eventide  ; 
Yet,  if  you  would  ask  of  that  maiden  fair 
What  Sir  Harry  said  while  he  hnger'd  there, 
Were  the  maiden  as  clever  as  L.  E.  L. 
Not  a  word  that  he  said  could  the  maiden  tell ! 

Sir  Harry  lias  ears,  and  Sir  Harry  has  eyes, 

And  Sir  Harry   his  teeth  of  the  usual  size; 

His  nose  is  a  nose  of  the  every-day  sort — 

Not  exceedingly  long,  nor  excessively  short; 

And  his  breath,  tho'  resembling  in  nought  the  "sweet  south," 

Is  inhaled  through  his  lips,  and  exhaled  from  his  mouth; 

And  yet,  from   the  hour  that  Sir  Harry  was  nursed. 

People  said  that  his  head  was  no  more  than  my  first  ! 


(^ 


J©; 


C  li  itr  n  i)  c 


n 


Sir  Harry  has  ringlets  he  curls  every  day, 
And  a  fortune  he  spends  in  pomatums,  they  say: 
He  is  just  such  a  youth  as  our  Rosalie  bides  "vvith, 
When  she  hasn't  got  me  to  take  waltzes  or  rides  with; 
But  not  such  a  one  as,  I  ween,  she  would  choose. 
Were  a  youth  that  /  know  to  be  caught  in  the  noose ; 
For  I've  oft  heard  her  say — tho'  so  flighty  she's  reckon'd — 
That  she  'd  ne'er  take  a  bridegroom  who  had  n't  my  secod  ! 


Sir  Harry  sat  out,  the  last  visit  he  paid. 

From  when  breakfast  was  over,  till  dinner  was  laid! 

He   talk'd,  in  his  usual  lady-like  way. 

Of  the  ball  and  the  ballet — the  park  and  the  play. 

Little  Rosa,  who  hoped,  ere  the  whole  day  had  passed, 

That  the  youth  would  speak  out,  to  the  purpose,  at  last. 

When  evening  at  length  was  beginninir  to  fall. 

Declared  that  Sir  Harry  was  nouijht  but  my  all  ! 


^^: 


/■I 


n 


<my3^ 


12 


C  Ij  a  r  11  k  ii , 


IV. 
''  -My  riRST  was  dark  o'er  earth  and  air, 
As  dark  as  she  could  be ! 
The  stars  that  gemmed  her  ebon  hair 

Were  only  two  or  three: 
King  Cole  saw  twice  as  many  there 
As  you  or  I  could  see. 


^3 


"  '  Away,  Kin;r  Cole,'  mine  hostess  said, 

'  Flagon  and  flask  are  dry  ; 
"^  our  nag  is  nciifhinf?  in  the  shed. 

For  lie  knows  a  storm  is  nigh.' 
She  set  my  second  on  his  head, 

And  she  set  it  all  awry." 


C  jj  a  r  a  i  E  0 . 


Come  from  my  first,  ay,  come ! 

The  battle  dawn  is  nigh ; 
And  the  screaming  trump  and  the  thund'ring  drum 

Are  calling  thee  to  die ! 
Fight  as  thy  father  fought, 

Fall  as  thy  father  fell ; 
Thy  task  is  taught,  thy  shroud  is  wrought, 

So — forward!  and  farewell! 


Toll  ye,  my  second  !  toll ! 

Fling  high  the  flambeau's  light ; 
And  sing  the  hymn  for  a  parted  soul, 

Beneath  the  silent  night ! 
The  wreath  upon  his  head. 

The  cross  upon  his  breast, 
Let  the  prayer  be  said,  and  the  tear  be  shed : 

So — take  him  to  his  rest! 


--r^:^^^^^ 


m 


lif 


Clj  n  r  n  11 1 5 . 


Call  ye  my  whole,  ay,  call ! 

The  lord  of  lute  and  lay; 
And  let  him  greet  the  sable  pall 

With  a  noble  song  to-day; 
Go,  call  him  by  his  name; 

No  fitter  hand  may  crave 
To  light  the  flame  of  a  soldier's  fame 

On  the  turf  of  a  soldier's  grave. 


CV. 


^) 


7 


(^  C  I)  n  r  n  ii  t  a . 

9 


VI. 

On  the  casement  frame  the  wind  beat  high, 
Never  a  star  was  in  the  sky ; 
All  Kenneth  Hold  was  wrapt  in  gloom, 
And  Sir  Everard  slept  in  the  haunted  room. 

I  sat  and  sang  beside  his  bed ; — 
Never  a  single  word  I  said, 

Yet  did  I  scare  his  slumber ; 
And  a  fitful  hght  in  his  eye-ball  ghsten'd, 
And  his  cheek  grew  pale  as  he  lay  and  listened, 
For  he  thought  or  he  dream'd  that  fiends  and  fays 
Were  reckoning  o'er  his  fleeting  days, 

And  telhng  out  their  number. 
Was  it  my  second's  ceaseless  tone  ? 
On  my  second's  hand  he  laid  his  own : 
The  hand  that  trembled  in  his  grasp,  ,. 

1^^  Was  crush'd  by  his  convulsive  clasp.  r^ 

is       ^    I' 


YC^^ 


VI 


9 


f 


lo 


r^'- 


C  }i  11  r  a  11  r  £i . 


Sir  Everard  did  not  fear  my  first  ; 

He  had  seen  it  in  shapes  tliat  men  deem  worst 

In  many  a  field  and  flood ; 
Vet,  in  the  darkness  of  liis   dread, 
His  tongue  was  parch'd,  and  his  reason  fled  ; 
And  he  watch'd,  as  the  lamp  burn'd  low  and  dim. 
To  see  some   Phantom  gaunt  and  grim 

Come,  dabbled  o'er  with  blood. 

Sir  Everard  kneel'd,  and  strove  to  pray, 
\h'   j)rayM   for  light,   and  he  pray'd    for  day. 

Till   t(,'rror  checked   his   prayer  ; 
And  ever  I  muttered  clear  and  well 
'•Click,  click,"  like  a  tolling  bell, 
Till,  bound   in  Fancy's  magic  spell, 

Sir  Everard  fainted  there. 


M 


'9 


Cljara&tri. 


17(1) 


On 


VII. 
My  first,  in  torrents  bleak  and  black, 

Was  rushing  from  the  sky. 
When,  with  my  second  at  his  back, 

Young  Cupid  wander'd  by: 
"Now  take  me  in;  the  moon  hath  past; 

I  pray  ye  take  me  in! 
The  lightnings  flash,  the  hail  falls  fast, 
All  Hades  rides  the  thunder-blast; 

I'm  dripping  to  the  skin!" 


I  know  thee  well,  thy  songs  and  sighs; 

A  wicked  god  thou  art. 
And  yet  most  welcome  to  the  eyes, 

Most  witching  to  the  heart!" 
The  wanderer  pray'd  another  prayer, 

And  shook  his  drooping  wing; 


18 


€  Ijn  r  n  &  til , 


The  lover  bade  him  enter  there, 
And  wrung  my  first  from  out  his  hair, 
And  dried  my  second's  string. 


And  therefore  (so  the  urchin  swore. 

By  Styx,  the  fearful  river, 
And  by  the  shafts  his  quiver  bore, 
And  by  his  shining  quiver) 
That  Lover,  aye,  shall  see  my  whole 

In  life's  tempestuous  heaven; 
And  when  the  lightnings  cease  to  roll, 
Shall  fix  me  on  his  dreaming  soul 

In  the  deep  calm  of  even ! 


^^4^^^^~ 


& 


iCc). 


C  Ij  a  r  a  ii  r 


VIIL 
Alas  \  for  that  forgotten  day 

When  Chivalry  was  nouri.shM, 
When  none  but  friars  learn'd  to  pray, 

And  beef  and  beauty  flourish'd  ! 
And  fraud  in  kings  was  held  accurst, 

And  falsehood  sin  was  reckon'd. 
And  mighty  chargers  bore  my  first, 

And  fat  monks  wore  my  seco.xd  ! 

Oh,   then  I  carried  sword  and  shield. 

And  casque  with  flaunting  feather. 
And  earned  my  spurs  in  battle  field, 

In   winter  and  rough  weather ; 
And  polished  many  a  sonnet  up 

To  ladies'  eyes  and  tresses. 
And  learned  to  drain  my  father's  cup. 

And  loose  my  falcon's  jesses ; 


1^1) 


ii 


n 

\        r 


20 


/, 


Clj  n  r  a  ii  rii , 


But  dim  is  now  my  grandeur's  gleam  ; 

The  mongrel  mob  grows   prouder, 
And  every  thing  is  done  by   steam, 

And  men  arc   kill'd  by  powder ; 
And  now   I  feel  my  swift  decay, 

And  give  unheeded   orders, 
And  rot  in  paltry  state  away, 

With  sheriffs   and   recorders. 


i 


C  Ij  a  r  a  ii  r 


IX. 
Sir  Hilary  charged  at  Agincourt, — 

Sooth  'twas  an  awful  day ! 
And  though  in  that  old  age  of  sport 
The  rufflers  of  the  camp  and  court 

Had  little  time  to  pray, 
'Tis  said  Sir  Hilary  mutter'd  there 
Two  syllables  by  way  of  prayer. 

My  FIRST  to  all  the  brave  and  proud 

Who  see  to-morrow's  sun; 
My  NEXT  with  her  cold  and  quiet  cloud 
To  those  who  find  their  dewy  shroud 

Before  to-day's  be  done; 
And  both  together  to  all  blue  eyes 
That  weep  Vvhen  a  warrior  nobly  dies. 


21  (i 


.^^^^^r::^ 


22 


£'  I]  a  r  11 II  r  n . 


'MJ? 


:\ 


(5 


X. 

He  tulk'd  of  daggers  and  of  darts, 

Of  passions  and  of  pains, 
Of  weeping  eyes  and  wounded  hearts, 

Of  kisses  and  of  chains ; 
He  said,  though  love  was  kin  to  grief, 

He  was  not  born  to  grieve ! 
He  said,  though  many  rued  behef, 

She  safely  might  beheve ; 
But  still  the  lady  shook  her  head, 

And  swore,  by  yea  and  nay. 
My  WHOLE  was  all  that  he  had  said. 

And  all  that  he  could  say. 

He  said,  my  first — whose  silent  car 

Was  slowly  wandering  by. 
Veiled  in  a  vapor  faint  and  far 

Through  the  unfathomcd  sky — 


ci:^R^ 


''^^^^^0^ 


iCIinrniits. 


23(f) 


Was  like  the  smile  whose  rosy  light 

Across  her  young  lips  pass'd, 
Yet  oh!  it  was  not  half  so  bright, 

It  changed  not  half  so  fast; 
But  still  the  lady  shook  her  head, 

And  swore,  by  yea  and  nay, 
My  WHOLE  was  all  that  he  had  said, 

And  all  that  he  could  say. 


And  then  he  set    a  cypress  wreath 

Upon  his  raven  hair, 
And  drew  his  rapier  from  its  sheath. 

Which  made  the  lady  stare; 
And  said,  his  life-blood's  purple  flow 

My  SECOND  there  should  dim. 
If  she  he  loved  and  worshipped  so 

Would  only  weep  for  him; 


^^Of 


m 


21} 


€  Ij  11  r  n  II  r  n . 


But  still   the  lady  shook  her  head, 
And  swore  by  yea  and  nay, 

My  WHOLE  was  all  that  he  had  said. 
And  all  that  he  could  say. 


v") 


6 


XL 
When  Ralph  by  holy  hands  was  tied 

For  hfe  to  blooming  Cis, 
Sir  Thrifty  too  drove  home  his  bride, 

A   fashionable   Miss. 
That  day,  my  first,  with  jovial  sound, 

Proclaim'd  the  happy  tale. 
And  drunk  were  all  the  country  round 

With  pleasure — or  with  ale. 

Oh,  why  should  Hymen  ever  blight 

The  roses  Cupid  wore? 
Or  why  should  it  be  ever  night 
Where  it  was  day  before  ? 
Or  why  should  women  have  a  tongue. 

Or  why  should  it  be  cursed 
In  being,  like  my  second,  long. 

And  louder  than  my  first? 


CjiaraiiEH.  ^^  m 


1)26 


CljnrniitH. 


A 


I 


^^:^^- 


"  You  rascal !"   cries  the  rural  wench, 

My  lady  screams,  "  Ah,  b^te !" 
And  Lady  Thrifty  scolds  in  French, 

And  Cis  in  Billingsgate; 
Till  both  their  Lords  my  second  try, 

To  end  connubial  strife, 
Sir  Thrifty  hath  the  means  to  die, 

And   Ralph — to   beat  his  wife ! 


t§^ 


^o 


Cljar  niie 


27  #) 


XII. 
/  GRACED  Don  Pedro's   revelry, 

AH  dressed  in  fire  and  feather, 
When  loveliness  and  chivalry 

Were  met  to  feast  together; 
He  flung  the  slave  who  moved  the  lid 

A  purse   of  maravedis ; — 
And  this  that  gallant  Spaniard  did 

For  me  and  for  the  Ladies. 

He  vowM  a  vow,  that  noble  knight, 

Before  he  went  to  table, 
To  make  his  only  sport  the  fight, 

His  only  couch  the  stable, 
Till  he  had  dragged,  as  he  was  bid, 

Five  score  of  Turks  to   Cadiz ; — 
And  this  that  gallant  Spaniard  did 

For  me  and  for  the  Ladies. 


fe 


!<S)1 


<? 

■?/, 


; 

^ 


;  J;  ' 


r  >^ 


O) 


C  ji  n  r  n  it  e  5 . 


To  ride   through  mountains  where  my  first 

A  banquet  would  be  reckon'd, — 
Through  deserts  where  to  quench  their  thirst 

Men  vainly  turn  my  second  ; 
To  leave  the  gates  of  fair  Madrid, 

To  dare  the  gates  of  Hades ; — 
And  this  that  gallant  Spaniard  did, 

For  me  and  for  the  Ladies. 


v-<X 


C  Ij  a  r  a  &  e  0 . 


XIII. 

The  Indian  lover  burst 

From  his  lone  cot  by  night ; — 
When  love  hath  lit  my  first, 
In  hearts  by  Passion  nurst, 

Oh  !  who  shall  quench  the  light  ? 

The  Indian  left  the  shore; 

He  heard  the  night  wind  sing, 
And  cursed  the  tardy  oar, 
And  wish'd  that  he  could  soar 

Upon  my  second's  wing. 

The  blast  came  cold  and  damp, 

But,  all  the  voyage  through, 
I  lent  my  lingering  lamp, 
As  o'er  the  marshy  swamp 
He  paddled  his  canoe. 


s; 


29  # 


i 


\     / 


3D 


f  li  11  r  11  ii  ni . 


XIV. 

Tin:  canvas  rattled  on  the   inast, 

As  rose  the  swelling  sail ; 
And  gallantly  the  vessel  pass'd 

Before  the  cheering  gale ; 
And  on  my  riRsx  Sir  Floricc  stood, 

As  the  far  shore  faded  dow, 
And  look'd  upon  the  lengthening  flood 

With  a  pale  and  pensive  brow  : — 
"  When  I  shall  bear  thy  silken  glove 

A\'here  the  proudest  Moslem  flee, 
M\'  lady  love,  my  lady  love. 

Oh,  \\aste  one  thought  on  me!" 


r/. 


Sir  Floricc  lav  in  a  dunni;eon  cell, 
AN'ilh  none  to  soothe  or  save; 

And  high  above  his  chamber  fell 
The  echo  of  the  wave ; 


But  still  he  struck  my  second  there, 

And  bade  its  tones  renew 
Those  hours  when  every  hue  was  fair, 

And  every  hope  was  true  : — 
"  If  still  your  angel  footsteps  move, 

Where  mine  may  never  be. 
My  lady  love,  my  lady  love. 

Oh,  dream  one  dream  of  me !  " 


CI) a  r n ii r ii .  31  (fc) 


or 

V 


Not  long  the  Christian  captive  pined ! — 

jNly  WHOLE  was  round  his  neck ; 
A   sadder  necklace  ne'er  was  twined. 

So  white  a  skin  to  deck ; 
Queen  Folly  neVr  was  yet  content 

With  gems  or  golden  store. 
But  he  who  wears  this  ornament  .i 

Will  rarely  sigh  for  more: —  /fe> 


V^-2: 


n 


(i 


(0> 


(f  1]  a  r  a  &  r  ii . 


"  My  spirit  to  tlie  Heaven  above, 
My  body  to  the  sea, 
My  lieart  to  thee,  my  lady  love 
Oh,  weep  one  tear  for  me  !" 


XV. 
A  Templar  kneel'd  at  a  friar's  knee : 
He  >va.s  a  comely  youth  to  see. 
With  curling  locks,  and  forehead  high. 
And  flushing  cheek,  and  flashing  eye; 
And  the  monk  was  as  jolly  and  large  a  man 
As   ever  laid   lip   to  a  convent  can, 
Or  call'd   for  a   contribution ; 


©^ 


=:=r^_— VvxC 


JO) 


0 

Vv       1 


n 


C 1]  n  r  n  li  r  £( . 


x\s  ever  read,  at  midnight  hour, 
Confessional  in  lady's  bower, 
Ordain'd  for  a  peasant  the  penance  whip, 
Or  spoke   for  a  noble's  venial  slip 
A  venal   absolution. 

"  Oh,   Father !   in  the  dim  twilight 
I  have  sinned  a  grievous  sin  to-night ; 
And  I  feel  hot  pain  e'en  now  begun 
For  the   fearful  murther  I  have  done. 


33  /# 


r 


"  I  rent  my   victim's  coat  of  green ; 
I  pierced  his  neck  with  my  dagger  keen ; 

The  red  streams  mantled  high ; 
I  grasp'd  him,  Fatlier,  all  t'n  w^hilo. 
With  shaking  hand  and  feverish  smile, 
And  said  my  jest,  and  sang  my  song. 
And  laugh'd  my  laughter,  loud  and  long. 

Until  his  glass  was  dry  ! 


f 


rR>, 


^   3if 


:)• 


i 


[K 


m 


^^S^^ 


f  Ij  a  r  a  i  r  ii . 


*'  Tlioiifjli  he   was  rich,   and   very   old, 
I   did   not  touch  a  grain  of  gold  ; 
But   the  blood   I  drank   from   the   bubbling  vein 
Hath  left  on   niv   lip   a  purple   stain." 

"  My  son  !    niv  son  !    for  this    thou  hast  done, 
Though  the  sands  of  thy  life  for  aye  should  run," 
The  merry  monk  did  say ; 
"  Though  thine  eye  be  bright,  and  thine  heart  be  light. 
Hot  spirits  shall    haunt  thee   all  the  night, 
I^lue   devils  all   the  day." 

The    tliuud(,'r.s   of  the   church   are   ended. 
Back  on  his  way  the  Templar  wended ; 
l)ut   the   name  of  him  the  Templar  slew 
Was   more   I.  ;in  the    Inquisition   knew. 


'<^S); 


£  jj  a  r  n  h  ij . 


'  'm3 


/l  •< 


XVI. 
Uncouth  ^vas  I  of  face  and  form, 

But  strong  to  blast  and  bliglit, 
By  pestilence  or  thunderstorm, 

By  famine  or  by  fight; 
Not  a  warrior  went  to  the  battle  plain, 

Not  a  pilot  steer'd  the  ship, 
That  did  not  look  in  doubt  and  pain. 
For  an  omen  of  havoc  or  hurricane. 

To  my  dripping  brow  and  lip. 


Within  my  second's  dark  recess, 

In  silent  pomp  I  dwelt ; 
Before  the  mouth  in  lowliness 

My  rude  adorers  knelt ; 
And  ever  the  shriek  rang  loud  within, 

And  ever  the  red  blood  ran ; 


h. 


m 


(Y 


(C 1]  a  r  a  h  p  n . 


And  amid  the  sin  and  smoke  and  din, 
I  sat  with  a  changeless,  endless  grin, 
Forging  my  first  for  man. 

My  priests  are  rotting  in  their  grave, 

My  shrine  is  silent  now. 
There  is  no  victim  in  my  cave, 

No  crown  upon  my  brow ; 
Nothing  is  left  but  dust  and  clay 

Of  all  that  was  divine ; 
My  name  and  my  memory  pass  away, 
And  yet  this  bright  and  glorious  day 

Is  called  by  mortals  mine ! 


^^ 


C  ji  a  r  fl  ii  rii . 


XVII. 
Lord  Roxald,  by  the  rich  torchliglit. 

Feasted  his  vassals  tall, 
And  he  broach'd  my  first,  that  jovial  knight. 

Within  his  banner'd  hall : 
The  red  stream  went  from  Vvood  to  can, 

And  then  from  can  to  mouth. 
And  the  deuce  a  man  knew  how  it  ran. 
Nor  heeded,  north  or  south. 
"  Let  the  health  go  wide,"  Lord  Ronald  cried. 

As  he  saw  the  river  flow, — 
"  One  health  to-night  to  the  noblest  Bride, 
And  one  to  the  stoutest  Foe !  " 


Lord  Ronald  kneel'd,  when  the  morning  came, 

Low  in  his  mistress'  bower. 
And  she  gave  him  my  second,  that  beauteous  dame. 

For  a  spell  in  danger's  hour : 


^^55/  _ 


K^-^ 


o 


Jj^ 


f  Ij  a  r  a  ii  r  n . 


Ilcr  silver  shears  wv-ro  not  at  liand ; 

And  slic  smiled  a  playful  smile, 
As  she  cleft  it  with  hor  lover's  bran:!, 
And  grew  not  pale  the  while : 
"  And  ride,  and  ride,"  Lord  Ronald  cried, 

As  he  kifs'd  its  siihcn  glcM  ;' 

*' For  he  tliat  woos  the  noblest  Bride 

Must  beard  the  stoutest  Foe." 


A 


Lord  lionald  stood,  when  the  day  shone  fair, 

In  iiis  garb  of  glittering  mail ; 
And  niark'd  how  my  whole  was  crumbling  there 

With  tlie  battle's  iron  hail  : 
The  l)astion  and  the  battlement 

(Jn  many  a  craven  crown. 
Like  rocks  from  somi  Ir.i^^o  mouiitiin  rent, 

Were  tumbling  darkly  doAvn : 


v<a 


C  Ij  lu  II  h  5 . 


39 


"  Wliatc'er  betide,"  Lord  Ronald  cried, 
As  he  bade  his  trumpets  blow, 

"I  shall  win  to-night  the  noblest  Bride, 
Or  fall  by  the  stoutest  Foe!" 


^-.s' 


2 


I 


C  ji  a  r  a  h  li . 


XVIII. 

Row  on,  row  on!— Tho  first  may  lig'it 
My  shallop  o'er  tlio  wave  to-ni;^ht ; 
But  sli;'  will  hide,  in  a  little  while, 
The  lustre  of  her  silent  smile  ; 
For  fickle  she  is,  and  changeful  still, 
As  a  madman's  wish,  or  a  woman's  will. 

Row  on,  row  on  ! — Tiic  second  is  high 
In  my  own  bright  lady's  balcony ; 
And  she  beside  it,  pal;3  and  mute, 
Untold  her  beads,  untouch'd  her  lute, 
Is  wondering  why  h^r  loVer's  skiff 
So  slowly  glides  to  the  lonely  cliff. 

Row  on,  row  on  ! — \Vh:  ii  th  j  wiioli:  is  fled. 
The  song  will  be  hushed,  and  tlie  raplurc  dead  ; 


CjjaraJie 


And  I  must  go  in  my  grief  again 
To  the  toils  of  day,  and  the  haunts  of  men, 
To  a  future  of  fear,  and  a  present  of  care, 
And  memory's  dream  of  the  things  that  were. 


\^Ji 


'MO 


5) 


o 


(-1 


\ 


m 


£  Ij  a  r  a  II  r  ii . 


XIX. 
O.NE  (lay  my  riiisT  young  Cupid  made 

In  Vulcan's  Lemnian  cell, 
For  alas  !  lie  had  learn'd  his  father's  trade, 
-a^  As  many  have  found  too  well; 

lie  work'd  not  the  work  with  golden  twine, 

lie  wreath'd  it  not  with  flowers, 
He  left  the  metal  to  rust  in  the  mine, 

The  roses  to  fade  in  the  bowers  : 
lie  forged  my  first  of  looks  and  sighs, 

Of  painful  doubts  and  fears, 
or  passionate  hopes  and  memories. 

Of  clofjuf.nt  smiles  and  tears. 


My  .si:c(>M)  was  a  wayward  thing. 

Like  others  of  his  name, 
\\'ith  a  fancy  as  ligbt  as  the  gossiiner's   wing, 

And  a  i-pirit  as  hot  as  Hamc, 


y& 


£  I)  a  r  a  h  e  ri . 


And  apt  to  trifle  time  away, 

And  rather  fool  than  knave, 
And  either  very  gravely  gay, 

Or  very  gaily  grave  ; 
And  far  too  ^veak,  and  far  too  ^vild, 

And  far  too  free  of  thought, 
To  rend  what  Venus'  laughing  child 

Or  Vulcan's  anvil  wrought. 


And  alas  !    as  he  h  d,  that  festal  night, 

His  mistress  down  the  stair. 
And  felt,  by  llu-  llaiiiheau's  flickering  light, 

That  she  was  Nery  fair. 
He  did  not  guess — as  they  paused  to  hear 

How  music's  dying  tone 
Came  mournfully  to  the  distant  car, 

With  a  majiic  all  its  own — 


C  jj  11  r  n  II  r 


That  the  archer  god,  to  thrall  his  soul, 
Was  lingering  in  the  porch, 

Disguised  that  evening,  like  my  whole, 
With  a  sooty  face  and  torch. 


"""^W^ 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 

Los  Angeles 
This  book  is  DUE  on  the  last  date  stamped  below. 


REC'i)  WB'UuL 

■^DEC0  2  19a4 


Form  L9-oUm-7, '54 (6990)444 


rot: 


^        <r<^ 


ir 

1    ■--       -^  i 

Of  1  1 

^y^-    s : 

.^<r 


:=j^ 


! 

Praed  - 

139 

!        ;'C 

Charades 

1 

u.    fiikincou..-^.. — 

UC  SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 


AA    000  372  418    4 


3  1158  00991  31 


PR 

5189 

P7c 


